


A Very Particular Dress

by isamariposa



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Play, Colonialism, Crossdressing, Fade to Black, Feminization, Hand Jobs, Heteronormativity, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isamariposa/pseuds/isamariposa
Summary: Somewhere in India, Henry buys James his first dress.
Relationships: Commander James Fitzjames/Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	A Very Particular Dress

**Author's Note:**

> There's something that looks vaguely het in the beginning but it's not what it seems - keep reading!
> 
> I'm not quite sure it has a place in my Clio series, but it's definitely in that happy time period.

* * *

General laughter saluted the punchline of Lieutenant Sherbey's joke. Henry glanced at James, knowing he found the other man terribly dull. He expected to catch him rolling his eyes, but he saw that his friend was not paying the slightest attention to the conversation. Transfixed, he was watching something across the room, so absorbed in whatever was holding his interest that he was in the way of a native waiter with his plate full of drinking glasses - too polite to request him to move.

"James," Henry said, and pulled him by the arm to get him out of the way.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I agree," James said, very obviously having no clue what was happening around him. 

No one noticed: emboldened by his success, Sherbey was starting another tirade. Now more interested in whatever James found so fascinating, Henry tuned out that conversation and followed his gaze. He could see nothing of particular interest in his first glance in that direction. Unless...? Two women were chatting close to the window as they waited to be asked to dance. One of them, auburn-haired and rather pleasant to look at, was fanning herself helplessly, the poor thing: the heat, so humid it felt like a thunderstorm might break at any moment, was unbearable that evening. The other woman, dark-haired and stout, seemed much more at ease in this climate - and in the room indeed. She would likely not put up with any nonsense. And lo and behold, _this_ was what had James so mesmerised. 

That was new.

Neither woman looked like what Henry knew James to prefer in his rare flirtations with the fairer sex over the course of their acquaintance. He was usually content with playful conversations, perhaps with a dance, but he rarely let it progress any further - _too much at stake,_ he mumbled the one time Henry enquired why. He didn't seem to mind it in principle, and they'd shared one between the two of them more than once, but it was, as a rule of thumb, not something James went out of his way to seek at all. But he now seemed thunderstruck; he could simply not stop staring at them. Good God, Henry thought with a pang of something close to dread or maybe to disgust, was he watching James fall in love with a woman? After nearly a year of sharing a bed with him? 

The ladies noticed his stare, eventually, and began speaking into each other's ears while glancing over at him - at both of them, in fact. Henry was not sure he was willing to be dragged into this. He rather wanted to flee. But he would stay, whatever the outcome, out of morbid curiosity to see how disastrous it might turn out.

"Well," he told him, a little impatiently. "Go on. Ask her to dance."

"Huh?" James said. He turned his head to look at him as if waking from a dream.

"She's noticed your staring. Ask her for a dance."

To Henry's ever-growing horror, James blushed, actually blushed when he saw that indeed, his attentions were returned.

"Now I've done it," he heard him mutter.

James was not one to cower when challenged, so he strode across the room with effortless grace. Henry followed him with some resignation, both intrigued at what would happen and because it would be rude to leave the lady James would not favour without a partner to dance. Should he be surprised that James approached the more homely one - tall and built enough to have an almost mannish figure under her very fine dress? Henry never knew what to expect about James's tastes. He watched him introduce himself, charm turned up to obnoxious levels as he extended his hand to beg, yes, beg for the honour of this dance. Henry then turned to the red-haired one, somewhat mollified to find that she was indeed the prettiest of the two.

"I couldn't possibly dance, sir," she said, sounding very Scottish. "It is most dreadfully warm tonight."

"I'm afraid it is," Henry said. "Some would call it one of the charms of India, but it can be rather tiresome, I concur." A vague sense of revenge spurred him to add, "Perhaps you would prefer some fresh air?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I would very much prefer that."

Henry offered his arm, then, hoping James would see, but he was too engrossed in his partner to notice them. He managed to catch some stray dialogue as they walked past them on the dance floor.

"...loveliest dress I've ever seen," James was saying. "Was it made here?"

"Yes," said his dark-haired partner. "Mrs. Bisu on Regent Street makes the loveliest dresses indeed."

Positively revolting. Fuming, Henry led Miss...? God, he'd already forgotten her name. Miss Bailey or Billey to the terrace of the governor's house. The night was tenfold fresher out here, a welcome relief from the bustling room. He loosened his cravat discreetly. One could overlook the jungle from this height, a black, uncertain shape in the darkness of the night, and not too distant at all. Some couples were engaged in some flirtation nearby. Henry bit back a sigh as he realised he was little inclined to do so himself, and rested both his hands on the balcony railing.

Mercifully, Miss Bailey seemed just as reluctant as he, or rather, she looked content enough with the fresh air to be interested in conversation. Henry could live with that. He did wonder why she had come to India, so he could ask her that at least if she changed her mind. As it was, they stood in comfortable silence for a long while, watching over the dark wilderness. A far cry often interrupted said silence; animals, Henry guessed, and he wished there was someone he could ask what kind they might be. He was yet to see a tiger - a terrible pity to be stationed in India and not do so. Whatever would he write to his brothers and sisters, at this rate?

"Ah, here you are," James said, surprising him out of nowhere. Miss Whatshername was not with him. He glanced at Miss Bailey with a solicitous smile. "Your friend was looking for you."

"Oh, then I shall join her immediately." She smiled at Henry. "You've been most gracious, sir. I am sorry I was not much company tonight."

"Your company was exquisite, Miss Bailey," Henry said with excessive enthusiasm. 

Since James was watching, he bent down to kiss her gloved hand on an impulse - she seemed charmed by it. Even better, when he glanced at him he saw that James was scowling.

"I was going to say we ought to head back to the inn, since we've an early day tomorrow," James said once she had gone. "But perhaps you'd rather stay?"

"No," Henry said, suddenly tired of playing games. "We may go."

Back at the inn, he was relieved to find that James was as eager as ever to respond to his caresses, and he called himself silly just before falling asleep in his arms.

* * *

  
  


The following day was spent in the market acquiring provisions for the Clio from the various grocers who supplied the dockyard. Henry stood quietly next to James as he charmed the vendors into a good deal, only piping up with the quantities they required for their journey to the Persian Gulf. That was when he took over the conversation, with minutiae that James had no patience for. The grocers all required about a week to furnish the ship, which suited them just fine. By midday, they were adequately provisioned and a great deal poorer in the credit the Royal Navy had extended to them, but satisfied - if not for the oppressing heat at this time of the day.

"Why did you insist on coming this way?" Henry complained as he sponged off his forehead with an already soaked handkerchief. "There is no shade in this street."

"Why, it's quicker."

"It really isn't."

"Take your watch out and time it. I bet you five shillings it will be quicker."

"I have more sense than to bet a penny against you."

"Oh, fine. Look, there is some shade here. We may rest for a minute."

What James called 'shade' was, in fact, a pitiful square of black cast off by a store sign. Henry felt like throttling him, but obliged because he did need to catch his breath. He wondered idly how poor Miss Bailey from the night before was faring in this heat. He glanced at the building behind them to see if there was somewhere to lean that was not blazing hot - only to find James entranced again. He was staring inside the store, agape and fascinated by... the dresses? Displayed by the window? Oh, for God's sake. This was Regent's Street, was it not? And this was Miss Whatshername's favourite store, which meant that James had designed to come this way. Alarmed now, Henry expected to find her inside, but there were no other customers there. Only the dresses and the shopkeeper, an older native woman who was folding some fabric on a table.

"What," he said, perplexed.

"Oh," James said. His face was flustered from the heat but it seemed to Henry he flushed even more. "Nothing. Those dresses are very fine, that's all."

They were indeed, now that Henry looked more closely. Very similar to the ones that were all the rage when he left London, tight across the chest with elaborate ribbons and flowing past the waist in an elegant turn of the skirt. It was no wonder, of course, that women would bring their fashion along to the colonies, but this dress seemed quite out of place in this weather, and not practical at all. In any case, he was more intrigued by James's fascination with it, very much like what he'd displayed the night before. He was fastidious with his clothes, but Henry hadn't known him to care about what women wore - or about women at all. 

A thought crossed his mind, then, quick and staggering: it wasn't Miss Whatshername that James liked the night before. It was _her dress._

"Would you like to go inside?" Henry asked, a little breathless, and unsure why he asked at all.

James's eyes widened with delight. "Could we?" 

"I don't see why not. At least we'll not be in the sun."

The strings of beads that stood in place of a door gave a pleasant chime as they stepped inside. Larger inside than how it appeared on the outside, the store was indeed a welcome relief from the scorching street. The shopkeeper stopped folding fabric and seemed a little puzzled to see them, but Henry smiled with all the aplomb years of following his sisters into such establishments had given him.

"How do you do," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Your shop was most recommended to my wife at a ball last night. I am here to enquire about prices."

"Of course, sahib. We have all kinds of fabrics, suitable for all tastes, for all purses. Your wife will love them."

"I am sure she will," Henry said, and glanced at James pointedly to make fun of him. 

He expected him to join the ribbing, perhaps to interject a comment about his fictional wife, but he found him stone-faced, even affecting boredom. Henry knew him well enough by now to know that this meant trouble, that this was the face James wore when he was desperately trying to hide something untoward about himself. A little rattled, Henry let him be, then, and continued making small talk with the shopkeeper. The dresses were exquisitely woven, as far as he could tell, and he was shown two or three very fine ones that his sister Charlotte would adore. The prices were high, but still within reason. With the corner of his eye, he was also watching James as he wandered around the shop unbothered, and Henry took note of one particular dress that seemed to give him pause. Unsurprisingly, it was very much in the fashion of his dance partner the night before. He saw him running a discreet hand on the silky fabric and then, when he was certain the shopkeeper was distracted, he lifted it gingerly and held it up close, ever so close to his body as if trying it on. 

_So that's what he likes,_ Henry thought with a fierceness that shocked him, and he clinged to this particular knowledge about James like a man starved holds a piece of bread - wantonly, voraciously.

It was not just the midday heat that made him flush once they stepped back outside after promising to return: James met his gaze then. He looked so fretful, so incredibly unguarded as if he were naked in the middle of the street. Henry ached with the need to hold him, to touch him in any way that propriety did not allow where they were standing. He resigned himself to a brief squeeze on the shoulder, too short and too unsatisfying, but the look of relief that crossed James's anxious face told him it was enough.

They said not a word about it, not on the street, and not in the safety of the inn, but the way James kissed him the moment they locked the door to their room... the way he pushed Henry against the wall and got down on his knees... the way his tongue... Oh, Henry would keep this secret, this secret and any others James saw fit to share with him if this was the price to pay for discretion.

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  


James guessed something was amiss the moment he stepped inside their room at the inn. He'd just had a passable afternoon acquainting himself with the passengers they were to transport on the Clio on her long journey back to England: a rather tedious evening of tea and idle chatter, with absolutely no worthwhile distraction. They would make for poor entertainment aboard, but that was not a particular concern of his: he'd have Dundy with him, who would humour him and second him in any roguery that might occur along the way. James was just thinking of this with a swell of fondness for Henry when he crossed the door, in fact, but the look on his face gave him pause. Dundy was an open book, easy enough for James to read, and he looked vaguely guilty but also rather... pleased with himself?

"What is the matter here?" James asked, in lieu of a greeting, and removed his cumbersome and excessively warm vest.

"Nothing," Henry said from the armchair of the room, crossing his legs with aplomb. He was barefooted. "Why should anything be the matter? I just had a most fruitful afternoon inspecting our supplies. We shall be ready to sail in three days, weather permitting."

James filed away that useful information, but shook his head: Henry was now looking _too_ confident. "No, really. What is the matter?" he insisted.

Giving in, Dundy cocked his head towards the bundle on the table. It was rectangular-shaped and made out of brown paper, tied with a most charming pink ribbon. Curious now, James stepped closer.

"What's this, then?" he asked, patting it to guess what it might be: it felt soft to the touch, the way fabric might.

"This," Henry said, and his voice had an unexpected waver, "is a little something I got for you. A 'farewell to India' gift of sorts."

James bit back a fond smile. "That's rather sentimental of you, isn't it?"

"Perhaps a little," Dundy said, and raised an eyebrow most alluringly.

Now smiling in earnest, James undid the pink ribbon and put it aside with the thought of perhaps using it on his hair later on. The bundle was wrapped with fastidious care, and it took him a long, noisy moment to get through the paper layers. When he uncovered it completely, he let out a strangled gasp.

A dress…!

 _The_ dress he had so admired in Regent's Street a few days earlier! 

He glanced up at Henry in alarm, expecting to find him laughing at him. A joke, it had to be a joke. Dundy had stayed mum after visiting that shop, to James's relief, so surely, surely this was some belated teasing. But when he met his gaze not a trace of amusement lingered in Henry's eyes. He was staring at James as if he found him the most fascinating creature in the world - with a large amount of fondness, but also with some slight hesitation.

"Why," James said, and had to clear his throat, "Why did you buy this?"

"I thought you liked it," Henry said. "Don't you?"

It took James a long moment, in which he considered feigning outrage, running, and lying in that order, to finally admit, "Yes." 

"Well, then. That is why I bought it for you."

Only then did James realise how hard his heart was thumping - when it quivered with pleasure that Dundy had done this extravagance for him. But the fear, this fear of being mocked, of being laughed at, of being too deviant still froze him in place, forbidding him to feel any joy just yet.

"And what, pray tell, am I supposed to do with it?" he asked, as nonchalant as he could manage.

"Why, I assumed you'd want to wear it. I had some alterations done to it to fit you." Henry dropped his voice then, and asked very gently, "Was I wrong to assume this... my darling?"

"No," James managed to say, and his voice croaked a little. "You were not wrong. But why. Why?"

His reluctance, performative or not, got the best of Dundy. James saw him paling a little, and then flushing.

"If you do not want it, I will return it and we will speak no more of this," he said a little stiffly, stiffly enough to send James into a brief panic. 

"I want it! Oh, Henry - how I want it!" 

Henry had risen from the armchair, likely to take the dress away, but he sat back down with calculated slowness. Never breaking eye contact with James.

"Then you should wear it," he said. "I am exceedingly curious."

James was not one to fidget or hesitate, but this felt a monumental line to cross, one he had never considered crossing in earnest before. Once or twice when they were children, he'd found himself wishing William was a girl so that James could wear her dresses. He'd worn womanly costumes, of course, in the mock plays he occasionally organised when out to sea, but while very satisfying those dresses were coarse and worn out: never meant to be beautiful, only enough for make-believe. But this? This? This was such a fine fabric under his fingers, silky and light, and the design so very exquisite, delicate, fitting for a distinguished lady - a stout one, but a lady nonetheless. This would make it all real.

"Are you certain," he said, and it was ridiculous how unsteady his voice sounded, "that no one will know? The shopkeeper? Someone who saw you buying it?"

"No one saw me," Henry said, very slowly. "No one will ever know, James. Only me."

"Only you," James repeated. "You know a great deal about me by now, don't you, Harry?" He let out a nervous laugh. "You are aware that at this rate I may have to kill you one day?"

"Don't be silly," Dundy said with a huff. "I can be left alive and be perfectly silent. Besides," he added, and looked uncomfortable enough to shift where he sat, "I don't know what it says about me that I instigated this."

"It says that I am one lucky fellow," James said, and then bit his bottom lip when he regretted this earnestness.

"One lucky _lady,_ I'm told," Henry quipped without missing a beat, and smiled.

Both embarrassed and emboldened by that comment, James pulled the dress completely out of the bundle, and held it up to admire it better. Oh, yes, it was perfect, its skirt spread out so very elegantly. James pressed it to his chest, charmed by how soft it felt. The lace on the hem danced just above his boots, just the right length for him - or perhaps a little too short. Only then did he realise the dress was not all that was in the bundle: there, on the table buried under all the wrapping paper, also laid a petticoat, and a very dainty pair of pantalettes.

"Hen- _ry,"_ James protested, unsure whether to be outraged or to run to Dundy and plant a kiss on his lips.

"You don't have to wear those," Henry said, his cheeks a little pink. "But this is a very fine dress and it needs a petticoat. It would have been strange if I had refused it. The other, ah, item, was a fancy of mine, I admit."

"I defer to you," James said, and was relieved to find he sounded far more confident now that Dundy was embarrassed as well. "If a petticoat must be worn with it, then I shall wear one. As for this..."

He ran a hand on the [pantalettes](http://www.katetattersall.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/katepantelette.jpg), short enough like the drawers men wore in the warmth of India. But the delicate, cream-coloured ribbons that would tie around mid-thigh, as well as the lace that decorated the hems, made it unmistakably feminine. The white linen was soft to the touch, exquisite. James let out a shaky breath, eager to try them on.

"Very well," he said, and glanced up at Henry. "Will you stay and watch? Or will you go and come back when I am ready?"

"If you don't mind," Dundy said, "I should very much like to watch."

James rid himself of the rest of his clothes without much ceremony: he kicked off his boots, off went his shirt, and he pulled his trousers down along with his drawers. The socks he kept on, both because he liked them and because he did not feel like going barefoot in the uncertain cleanness of their room.

"I should have bought you shoes as well," Henry said.

His voice sounded a little strange, so James glanced up at him. He was still sitting on the armchair, legs spread and fully dressed, but he appraised his nudity with a frank gaze, and seemed very pleased with it. James grinned at him and turned to face him to give him a better view. He extended one socked foot towards him. 

"I don't know that they make ladies shoes in this size."

Henry laughed. "Maybe not."

James took the pantalettes first, pulling them up his legs and marvelling at how smooth the linen felt against his bare skin. They had an open seam both at the front and back, he noted with some satisfaction, and his prick fit very snuggly through the front opening. It was not yet hard, but it had begun stirring with interest both with Dundy's stare and with the illicit feeling of the soft, womanly underclothes against his thighs. James tied the ribbons and the fastenings until the drawers fit comfortably around his hips. He did not know whether he should be surprised that Henry had guessed they would fit him so right; after all, he was thoroughly acquainted by now with James's nether regions, hips, crotch and arse. His prick stirred a little more at this thought, and he gave himself a quick tug. From his armchair, Henry made a choking sound, and James winked at him. 

"Having second thoughts, Mister Le Vesconte?" he asked, and could barely hold back the tease from his voice.

"No, my sweet," Dundy said after clearing his throat. "Just far keener than I expected."

The white silk petticoat brought a chilly sensation to his bare legs when he pulled it up. James shook his hips, rather fascinated with the way the cloth swung just above his ankles, back and forth, like a secret caress every time he moved. He then reached for the dress and held it up again. It was his, he thought, his to wear and to look after. A belated, long repressed thrill ran down his spine: the delicious acknowledgement that he was doing something transgressive and forbidden. With one deep breath, James pulled the dress over his head, struggled a little to get his arms in the sleeves, and finally, finally let it fall along his body, the fit tight and yet not constraining.

"O-ohh," he whispered when he caught his reflection in the lone, somewhat distorted mirror of the room.

He grabbed the upper sides of the skirt, lifting them up a little to admire himself better. It was just as comfortable as he'd imagined - and just as exciting to see the shape of his body somewhat altered by the fastenings of the dress. The upper bodice gave the impression of a narrower waist, and the flowing fall of the skirt a certain widening of the hips that James was not sure was entirely an artifact. He turned a little to look at himself sideways, and then more: he noted with perverse satisfaction that the dress did make his backside look rounder - more full. There were ribbons on the back, too, but he found that he could not reach them.

"Help me," he told Henry, too happy to beckon him closer.

In an instant Henry was by his side, excessively close - near enough that James could feel the heat of his body rolling off from him, too compelling to resist, luring him closer like a spider draws its prey. He tied up the ribbons on the back of the dress with a deftness that surprised James: they were not sailor knots, sturdy and practical, but he tied them into nice little bows that were still very tight, perhaps too tight. He had something in his hand: the pink bow the bundle was tied with. He lifted James's hair into a tail and tied it up high and to the side, giving him a most fashionable air.

"I should have got you shoes, and jewels, and things for your hair," Dundy said, his voice husky. He placed his hands on James's shoulders, and met his reflection in the mirror. It was blurry enough that they could be mistaken for a couple, husband and wife, perhaps.

"Step away," James said with a shaky laugh. "If I get used to this, there may not be a way back."

Henry stepped backwards but grabbed James by the hand, pulling him along towards the middle of the room: he forced him into a little twirl, as if they were dancing. James followed along, his socks making the gliding motions easier. The dress lifted slightly with each turn, distracting him into staring down rather than at Henry. Oh, it should not be this fun, it shouldn't. In no time they were both overcome with laughter. How was it that they'd never attempted dancing together before, not even when piss drunk? To be led was entirely different than to lead, and Henry's hand on the small of his waist was firm and resolute. James arched his back against it, pressing against him until they were flesh to flesh, nose to nose, dancing so very close - and smiling.

"You have no business looking so charming," Dundy whispered. He slid his hand down to cup James's arse when he kissed him. 

"Mind your manners, sir," James protested, and pulled back from the kiss as much as he could: Henry was holding him too tight. "That is no way to treat a lady."

"You are absolutely right, Miss Fitzjames. My behaviour is atrocious." He squeezed him over the dress, nevertheless, outright pinching him. 

"I may have to slap you if you do not cease."

"Mm. Maybe later." Henry winked at him and stepped back. "If you do not care for dancing, perhaps you'd like to have a seat?"

James thought he meant the armchair and began moving in that direction, but Henry pulled him towards the bed instead. The surprise at the forceful gesture left James quite defenseless, and he ended up sitting on Dundy's lap before he could protest. Unused to the girth of the skirts, he gave a few experimental shifts of his hips until they felt the least cumbersome to sit. They rode up his legs, just slightly. Henry's arm slid around his waist to support him better, and the other hand he let rest on James's covered knee.

"Well then," he said, and raised one eyebrow. "Does your mamma know you came to see me in my room, Miss Fitzjames? Unchaperoned?"

"She does not," James said, coquettishly. "But I trust you will be a perfect gentleman."

"Oh, I will be," Henry said. "I'll be as good as an angel."

His hand, however, he lowered to James's calf just enough to let one of the socks slide down to his ankles. He stroked up the back of his bare leg, squeezing very gently, until his arm disappeared under the skirts. James could see it no longer but oh, he could feel the hand, warm and firm against his skin.

"Henry," he said, unsure whether they were still mucking about.

"Mm," Dundy said with a mischievous smirk. "You will let us have a bit of fun, won't you, my dear?"

"Oh yes. Just a little bit."

"A little bit like this, maybe?"

Henry's hand had found the hem of the pantalettes, and he began undoing the ribbons wrapped around the legs with infuriating ease, considering he could not see them. His thumb was making delicious circles on the inside of James's thigh.

"I'm half of a mind to ask why you are so skilled at this," James grumbled, breaking character briefly.

"Now don't be cross. You are the only girl for me from now on," Henry said, and kissed James's cheek.

With the fastenings undone, he could move his hand far more easily now, inching ever close to his crotch. James held his breath in anticipation, even if Dundy seemed to be taking his sweet time upwards. At last he slipped his hands through the front opening and cupped his bollocks, massaging them together. James squirmed a little.

"Yes," Henry whispered. "Spread your legs for me."

Never had he spoken in such a pleading, irresistible tone. James obeyed, a little confused at how much this made him harden. He sucked in a deep breath as Henry continued his lazy fondling without as much as grazing his prick, which was terribly vexing. He pushed his hips downwards but Dundy, that fiend, was perfectly aware of his frustration, and shifted his hand out of the way - only to press an eager thumb against his arsehole through the opening in the back of the pantalettes.

"Ah," James gasped. "Straight to the point I see."

"You know me," Henry said, and he kissed James's lips.

James grabbed his face then, running his fingers through his sideburns, and slipped his tongue into Henry's mouth to return the kiss with ardour. He was now stroking him in exquisitely slow circular motions without breaching him - teasing abominably. At least he was as worked up as James felt, his breathing quick and laboured when he pulled back.

"Tell me what you want," he said, shifting James on his lap a little. 

An unmistakable hardness pressed against James's thigh, even through the heavy layers of the dress. He pushed down against it, still holding Henry's face to keep him close to his mouth.

"Oh, I daren't say," James said, feigning coyness against his lips.

"Is it maybe this?" Henry asked, and finally, finally grabbed a hold of James's prick. "Is it?" He ran his hand on it, up and down, playing with the foreskin.

"Yes. Yes."

"What a wicked girl. A wicked, wanton girl."

Each of Henry's words was punctuated by a firm tug on his prick.

"Yes," James said, again, and hissed with pleasure when the frigging picked up speed. "Your girl?"

"My girl. My very own girl to hold and to stroke and to give pleasure to. And such a pretty girl. If only you knew all the things I want to do to you in that dress."

"Tell me."

Henry tilted his head so that he could whisper in his ear, his breath searing hot against him, his wrist never slowing down. "I want to touch you," he said, "I want to touch you until you soil those petticoats of yours with your seed." 

James made a choking noise, pressing against the hand with more urgency.

"And then," Dundy went on, "I want to lift up your skirts and bugger you silly while you're still wearing that dress."

"N-no," James said, drawing out the n into a moan. "Don't you dare. You would ruin it."

"I will be very careful, my darling. So very careful."

"Do you promise?"

"Oh, yes. I promise not to ruin your dress. But. I may ruin _you_ instead."

"Do it. Do it do it do it."

"Say please?"

" _Please,_ Harry."

James was close, too close, hardly thinking straight, only focused on the pressure building up inside him - making it harder to breathe. Henry seemed to notice and slowed down, which was in equal parts infuriating and a welcome relief: James wouldn't have wanted to spill so fast. He hid his face against Dundy's neck, catching his breath. To distract himself, he reached to touch him over his trousers, patting his stiffness with some surprise: he was urgently hard, and he let out a muffled groan when James squeezed him - likely very close as well.

"I don't know how you do this," Henry said, panting. "How you make me so helpless with the littlest things."

 _"I_ make you helpless?" James let out a soft laugh. "Says the man with his hand up my dress. Henry dear, this was all you."

"Not quite," he said, giving James one lazy jerk before letting go of him. "But I will happily take the blame." 

He began sliding the hand out of the skirts, and in doing so he pulled the pantalettes down. James kicked his legs to aid him, and stared down with a fresh wave of arousal when they fell to the floor, undone. They really were very pretty.

"What do you say, Miss?" Henry said, and slapped the side of his thigh sharply enough that it was felt through the layers of the dress. "Shall we move this to the bed?"

"Let's," James said.

His gasp of delight when Henry lifted him in his arms was, perhaps embarrassingly, not at all feigned. 

He had the fleeting thought that he needn't have worried about the dress when he was placed on the bed: Henry had always been, after all, mindful of James's whims. On all fours, he felt him lifting the petticoat and the skirts with utmost care, gingerly even, until he bared his arse. James turned his head to look at him. Dundy had undone his trousers and was stroking himself with the filthiest expression on his face, fast and with intent. James smirked and pushed his hips backwards, shaking them a bit, and loved the muffled groan this drew out of Henry. The many layers of the dress and the petticoat made it somewhat cumbersome to touch himself, but he managed after much foraging, just as he felt Dundy pressing against him - his prick slick with salve.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Very ready," James answered, just as hoarsely, undone with pleasure the moment it began.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
